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Published: November 16th 2013
An Australian playing golf in every state of the USA
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Key Vista Pink Hill North Carolina Just rubbish – 2 nines, 2 sevens and a 97.
Fantastic micro brewery in Wilmington NC. Tours on the half hour. Meanwhile you sit at the bar. Really good beer including one that is made using Jim Beam barrels as a filtration method. “Do we take our beer with us on the tour?” “Sure it’s a brewery”.
Onwards to Myrtle Beach that everyone on the way told me I had to go to. I pull into the Heather Glen Golf Links. Can this be a Public course? It is just sensational. Given a 4 and 1/2 star rating by Golf Digest, Best new Public Course 1987, Ranked in the Top 5 Public courses in America. You drive down to the bag station, a chap unloads your bag, you drive back to the car park and walk back down by which time he has loaded up your cart. You then drive down to the Tee master who hands you a Booklet that explains the layout (inspired by Glen Eagles and St Andrews) and he gives you some insights on how to play the course. On the seventeenth I blade a seven iron on the par three that bumps and runs onto the green. I then drain a 15 metre putt. Best course I have played outside of Metropolitan and I have an 86. Last course to be played on this stint and far and away the best I have played. All for $40 odd dollars.
Mike and Wendy from Indiana. Mike is a seriously good golfer. Wendy is not serious about her golf.
I have a day to kill before I go and I have always wanted to see Fort Sumter. So a boat cruise:
A 42 pounder Smoothbore Cannon at Fort Sumter.
A view of Fort Sumter from the boat. A bit of Wiki: – Following secession by the South the first shots of the war were at Fort Sumter. On Friday, April 12, 1861, at 4:30 a.m., Confederate batteries opened fire, firing for 34 straight hours, on the fort.
Confederate troops then occupied Fort Sumter for nearly four years, resisting several bombardments by Union forces before abandoning the garrison prior to William T. Sherman’s capture of Charleston in February 1865.
Anyway -
“Drizzle, drazzle, druzzle, drome, time for this one to come home.”
So Atlanta, LA, Tullamarine,
Public Address system while waiting at the carousel:
“Could Brian Donnelly report to the Baggage department”. “I’m Mr Donnelly” “Umm I am afraid some of your luggage is missing”.
Some reactions to the blog:
Daughter: A great read
Son: I didn’t read it. As you know dad I’m a bit of an arsehole.
Mikey: A crock of shit
Wife: It was good, I read bits and pieces.
Ian: Blogs are for self indulgent wankers!
Scene: Lower Plenty – Me “
Well, I figured it out, that was 6821 kilometres, 1472 golf shots and 16 states in 31 days”. Wife “
“That’s nice dear”.
To be continued in 2014
I’m sitting in a diner in Tennessee some 40 kilometres from Lynchburg the home of the Jack Daniels Distillery. There are signposts everywhere alerting you to this and that you can tour it. Now I have never drunk JD, but my curiosity was pricked. So I ask the waiter if he had ever been. You know, to JDs, not pricked. “Oh sure when I was a kid, I would sure like to get back there. It was great”. I’m sitting in the car park outside the diner looking at my map when a couple who had obviously overheard my conversation with the waiter wind down the window and start giving me directions on how to get to the Distillery. “Is it worth it?” “Oh yeah it’s fantastic”. So the house of Jack it is.
It’s hot at the distillery and there is obviously going to be something of a wait for the tour. There are boards running around the waiting area that give you the story of the Distillery and Mr Jack. Jack apparently was a confirmed bachelor, but according to the Distillery there were as many as seven women who mourned his death and there are chairs on each side of his headstone, so the many women who mourned his passing could sit a spell. Now a confirmed bachelor in those days was normally someone I’m guessing who had made a lifestyle choice similar to Mr Smithers, but I don’t if this would have sat well, back in the day or with the typical JD aficionado today. I don’t know what I thought JD fans were going to be like. I hadn’t imagined a Noel Coward type talking to an Oscar Wilde type, but oh my Lord! Neck tattoos, leather, denim, doo rags (doo rags are the things that for reasons unknown Peter FitzSimons wears), piercings and lots of hirsute plumbers’ smiles. And the men were worse.
After a two hour wait in 100 degree heat, it is away we go with Dusty as our guide. The photographer (who takes a group shot before we commence), tells us “He is quite the character – you’ll find it all fascinating”. Well he isn’t and the making of Tennessee whiskey is mind numbingly uninteresting (I don’t why I thought it would be otherwise). It goes for an hour and it is unbelievably hot. End of the tour – Dusty “Yawl can go to Lynchburg after this – it stays open for the last tour, but remember it is a dry county”. I go up to Dusty “Did you say it is a dry county?” Dusty very jauntily “Yes sir”.
That’s Dusty sitting down in the 1st picture. I think he had a lost a little bit of interest by this stage. The second photo is the spring they supposedly take all their water from. Really, who would give a shit.
Blue Hills Golf Club, Roanoke, Virginia. Play with Trey, a ripper bloke, who tries to arrange for his mate in Atlanta to take me out and show me the sights. This is after he had only just met me (this didn’t work out as he sent me his mate details by email and I had some serious Outlook problems that were only fixed a week later). People in the South are just incredibly hospitable, likable people. Nice course – 87. Did I make that sound matter of fact?
Did I mention I had an 87?
Richmond, Virginia. The capital of the Confederacy during the Civil War. Edgar Allan Poe museum. The Curator to me (and to all patrons) “Hopefully you will find out something about Edgar Allan Poe that you didn’t know previously”. This wouldn’t be really hard as the only things I know about Poe is that the world’s greatest ham, Vincent Price, made a lot of bloody awful films in the 50s and 60s based on his works and that Lisa Simpson made a diorama based on “The Tell-Tale heart”. So around I go. Apparently he was greatly admired by Jules Verne and Monet and that he married his 13 year old first cousin when he was 27. So a few things I didn’t know; the French don’t just like Jerry Lewis and Poe was an incestuous paedophile.
Our boy Eddy – funny he doesn’t look at all like a pervert.
• A good tour
• 2nd Best course
• The circular nature of life (as witnessed at Tullamarine)
• Some reactions
In a bar (that’s a surprise) in Nashville Tennessee. Lots of cowboy hats, including on a group of Pommies sitting front and centre (one who hears me talking to the chap next to me and decides to have a sledge about the Ashes. What next? A Carlton supporter carrying on about the 99 prelim?) Country and Western duet singing some of the most appalling shit I have ever encountered. Behind the bar, two chappies doing a piss poor imitation of Bryan Brown and Tom Cruise in Cocktail (and they were pretty piss poor to start with). One of the duet yells “Who here likes Garth Brooks?” The crowd go wild. This is what my own personal hell would look like.
Knoxville, East Tennessee. Fantastic museum. Lots of Civil War stuff. Also a lot stuff about hillbillies. It is matter of some conjecture where the Beverley Hillbillies were from. Hints in the show range from Oklahoma to Arkansas to Missouri to Tennessee. Oil means Appalachians which means maybe Tennessee and to my untrained ear they sound as if they come from around these here parts. I thought as I got further north the accent would start to tend towards a more northern accent. The opposite is true. I have found at times people to be incomprehensible. Unlike further south where I could understand them, but they couldn’t understand me.
How much does this look like a W class tram? Maybe I have just been away too long.
Some Confederate “Dude” ( A major I think) wore this into battle during the Civil war.
After the museum I repair to the Bistro at the Bijou. Just for the companionship mind you. I fall into a conversation with the barkeep who wants to eventually work for Hillary C. Maybe as her CJ. She is a Politics major. We talk for ages and eventually she tells me she is somewhat notorious. A local politician, the Mayor?, a Congressman?, had said all homosexuals were a result of monkeys mating with men. Soon after, this chappie called into the Bistro and Rachel (the barkeep) told him that they wouldn’t serve him. This became a big deal and was reported in a lot of the media. Subsequently they have had people from far and wide come into the bar to congratulate them. They now have a picture of this fellow on the bar with a rainbow coloured feather boa wrapped around it.
• They have bogans too!
• Virginny and Mr Poe
I try to get off the interstate whenever possible to get away from fast food chains. I randomly choose a town in Missouri (Lamar) to go to one of the local diners. There are signs up around the town saying this was the birthplace of Harry S Truman. How lucky is this. I love Harry.
Harry had a an outside dunny when he was a kid, just like me. How great is that!
I go to the local diner. I’m the only one there. The waitress greets me – where you from? etc. Then the cook comes out to meet me. Then the receptionist. Then the owner! “Why Lamar?” I explain it was only a random thing. She asks me would it be alright for her to claim on the Diner’s facebook page that I came especially from Australia to come to her diner. “Knock yourself out”
Randal Hinkle Muncipal Golf Course Mountain Grove Missouri:99 – I don’t want to talk about it.
• Who doesn’t like Garth Brooks?
• A “W” Class tram – in Tennessee!
Cairo, (pronounced K-ro not Ki-ro) Illinois has a population of approx 2,000; at its zenith (during the Civil War), it had around the 50,000 mark. It was named after the Egyptian city as it lies at the confluence of two great rivers, the Ohio and the Mississippi. Many things lead to its decline (me obviously being an incredible expert having spent 3-4 hours there and reading a few articles on line). Obviously the rivers aren’t the commercial artery they once were and there was a great deal of strife in the 60s and 70s during the Civil rights era. As Fred explained to me (I’ll explain Fred in a bit) it lies further south than Virginia.
I’m not sure why I came here. I had seen it in a travel documentary and when I crossed the border into Illinois and saw the signpost, I was intrigued. The doco talked about it being the most depressing place in the US. I don’t know about that. It is undoubtedly a sad place, but mostly because of what it was and what it may have been.
I go to the local museum which used to be the Post Office, Customs House and Court House. I’m happily wandering around the exhibits when a voice,
“CAN I HELP YOU”. A little voice responds
“I’m sorry?” HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE”. Little voice “T
he front door”. “Oh, Oh did I leave that open? Ummmm. Do you want a tour?”
This was Fred, the local curator. He seems genuinely surprised that anyone would be here at this particular time. I gather he gets the occasional school group and is suitably prepared. Someone just interested – that’s weird! The museum is like the town – shambolic and fascinating. During the Civil war this was Grant’s HQ for six months and accordingly they have a lot of Grant stuff.
This Grant’s desk with all his stuff on it. Before Fred came in I could have sat in his chair, written in his diary, peed in his ink well. The reason this is blurry I dropped the camera and buggered it – but I was still able to take a picture of Fred:
Fred showed me the Port diary covering a few days during the Civil War, maps from the era (that were just lying at the bottom of a cabinet decayed and decaying further and the Court room (that had all the original furniture and fixtures) which wasn’t yet opened to the public. The Trust had plans to refurbish it, but it would take $60,000. $60,00 they don’t have. Despite Fred’s best efforts and I’m sure the Trust’s, things were going to rack and ruin. The heart breaking thing was that it could be magnificent, but it would need Cairo to come back and that isn’t going to happen.
Bowling Green, Kentucky (Go Hilltoppers): I go to watch the local farm team, the mighty Hotrods (a feeder team for the Tampa Bay something or another). They are playing the Western Michigan White Caps (Isn’t Michigan landlocked?). Sensational. Free to get in. Beer. Really good hot dogs. Baseball like Bull Durham. Kids swiping the mascot on the back of the head and running away giggling. Too good.
Golf: Paul Walker Golf Course 1044 Covington Ave Bowling Green, Kentucky. Ordinary Golf Course – Very Ordinary golfer. 100. Who was I kidding? I should have made this a putt putt golf tour or a darts tour.
• Give em hell Harry
• There is always a diner somewhere
9.15 a.m. in a hotel in a very small town in Kentucky.
“Just a couple of things about the room”. “Yes”. “The tap on the shower is not attached and won’t go back on. To make the toilet flush you have to take the top of the cistern off and manipulate the float manually. Neither of the bedside lamps work. The TV is only picking up one station. Three of the four power points don’t work.” “Is that everything?” “Oh, it smells vaguely of vomit, but besides that everything was fine.”
Fawlty Towers. Episode: The Waldorf Salad.
Mr Hamilton: “What I’m suggesting is that this place is the… the crummiest, shoddiest, worst-run hotel in the whole of Western Europe”.
Major Gowen: “No! No, I won’t have that!………….. There’s a place in Eastbourne”.
Carbondale Illinois: Hickory Ridge Public Golf Center: Two sort of my age women waiting behind me on the first tee. “I’m happy to join on with you two”. “No, that’s OK”. This is the only time this happened on the whole trip. Maybe they thought I was a masher. Anyway this turns out to be good thing. The course I would say was comparable to Royal and Ancient Heidelberg. Pretty and reasonably challenging (sort of like the wife).
I return to the club rooms. Me to the pro “Have you ever had one of those days where everything goes right”. The Pro “Oh yeah”. Me “Well not me…………..before today”.
Listen, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Well I do, but anyway I had an 85. That’s right 85.
• K-ro not Ki-ro
• The mighty Hotrods
• I’ve been kidding myself
Just some of the reactions.
On a trip back to an optometrist for a second time to pick up glasses I had left the day before. The receptionist: “Where are you from darling?”, me: “ What’s your guess?” “ I don’t want to sound stupid, but I thought maybe Ireland”. The optometrist hears us and comes out “I thought you sounded like Prince Charles or something”. Wouldn’t Chuck love that!
Bar in South Carolina Pro shop. Her “You are playing here a lot” me “This is my first time here – in fact it is my first time in South Carolina”. Her, “You aren’t that South African fella” Me, “I don’t think so”.
Hotel Receptionist in Virginia with an upwards questioning inflection “German”. Me “no”.
Service Station in Augusta, him “United Kingdom?”. Me “No”. Him “England?”. Me “that is part of the UK, think Southern Hemisphere”. Him “Wales?”.
I talk to some chaps on the first tee in Bowling Green Kentucky. I come across them again on the 6
th fairway and asked them where the 7
th tee is. They tell me. “Where are you from?” “Australia”. One of the chaps to the other chap (laughing uproariously) “you got it right you whore”.
Two lasses in a service station in Tennesse. “I like your accent, where you from?”. Me: “Australia”. Other lass : “I’ve never heard it in real life. I like it. It is like the television”.
Fellow barfly in Wilmington: “Where are you from?” . Me “Australia”. Him “You sure?” It was late.
• Mr Fawlty! Mr Fawlty!
• Bdonnel1’s “Believe it or not”
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Wichita Kansas has a terrific little part replica/part original old western township called Cowtown. Think Westworld without Yul going batshit.
Foot pedal operated machinery well suited to injured workers suffering from bilateral epicondylitis (a little in-joke there for those in the rehab industry)
They have Ye olde local citizens scattered throughout the township who explain various aspects of 19th century western living. These people in the various museums I visit are always extremely bright and articulate and normally have a tertiary degree in history. So this type of gig would I imagine be heaven for a week or two. But for months ? years? There are not lot of choices for history majors. Mama, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys (or cowboy historical impersonators) let them be doctors and lawyers and such.
This gent explained to me that a gent named Murdoch came and took over the local paper so as much as things change……….
Note the cases above him. Capital letters are in the
upper case and small letters in the
lower case and this how they got to be referred to that way in common parlance.
Well I’ll be horn swoggled if that nice carpenter didn’t turn out be in the words of Yosemite Sam
“a rootin’ toot tootin’ two gun shootin’ wild west buccaneer.”
Anyway, enough enjoying myself it is time to play golf. Oh for pity sake, it is time to play golf.
I play with Andrew in Wichita Kansas. Andrew (a terrific fellow) has just finished a shift at the local aircraft manufacturer (where he works putting the skin on planes) that he started at 5 am. He works 60 to 70 hours a week. This is overtime that he has been doing for the last five months. I say surely they would be better off taking on additional staff rather than paying penalties and driving their staff into the ground. He replies not according to their bean counters. This may have something to do with your employment being linked to your healthcare, meaning it is more expensive to take on additional staff. It is all bizarre and Gough did us a big favour all those years ago.
So Andrew has decided to get in 18 before going home. We play the first 9 without a pencil, so don’t keep score. This is a blessing. We get a pencil for the second 9 -unfortunately. I should really be doing something else on a Sunday afternoon rather than playing golf. Not to overstate it, but I stink the joint up, while Andrew comes good. In spite of my putridness we have an awful lot of fun. Andrew can’t understand what I’m doing in Wichita. I explain that I’m on holidays. This draws a blank expression from Andrew. Me,
“Don’t people on holidays come to Kansas?” Him,
“Not really”. Me,
“What nobody”. Him,
“Well, I’ve never met anyone”.
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A fixer upper in Alabama
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I’ve no idea
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This may shock, but Barack didn’t win any southern states
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Arkansas
September 10, 2013 by
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September 10, 2013 by
bdonnel12
I play at Vache Grasse (French for fat cow – I have no idea – maybe in homage to Amanda Vanstone) Arkansas. I play with 4 fellows who are all in the 70s and play 3 times a week. And play pretty darn well may I say. Even though they are in their 70s they are as full of life as a lot of men in their 30s. These chappies have their own rules such as : lost balls don’t incur a penalty as they have had a lot of rain this year. They remind me of that thought of Peter Roebuck, (the English cricket writer), that Australian men turn 18, like it, and decide to stay around that age for a couple of decades. We now know of course that Peter would have preferred if they stayed around the 13, 14 mark.
I try to make a booking at La Fortune Golf Course, Tulsa, Oklahoma on Friday for a Saturday tee time. “We don’t take bookings for singles sir. If you turn up between 10 and 10.30 we will get you on pretty quick smart.” So I turn up at 10 am. I notice a little chappie buzzing about the starter wearing what looks like floral board shorts and a three sizes too big round collar Adidas shirt. I wonder what his deal is. Some sort of very odd job man? Anyway, “quick smart” turns out to be an hour and a half. I’m eventually teamed up with the little chappie (who turns out to be a golfer by the name of Richard – who has no time for a dress code) and Barry, a chiropractor originally from California. Richard starts drinking half way down the first fairway and swearing on the first tee. I’ve found that the Americans I’ve come across (while playing golf anyway) don’t seem to swear much. I’ve always thought cussing and golf sort of went hand in hand. Richard loves to swear incessantly. He also has an ongoing commentary about his game and your game that is incredulous about how unlucky we are. “That wind just cum and took it”. “That green slopes all wrong”. If smoking was an Olympic event I’m pretty sure Richard would at least finish on the podium. He has a smoke a hole. “If you want a beer, Brian just take it. Where is that beer bitch? What do you call those jumpy things” Me: “Kangaroos?” Him:“There the damnest things”. He is only small and never hits the ball further than 150 metres, but always down the guts. I don’t think he has worse than a bogy all day. He is drinking his beer from a plastic beaker with ice in the beer. Barry doesn’t approve of our Gollum like playing partner. Watching Richard scurrying around the green Barry says to me “That is what happens if you abuse alcohol and drugs all your life”. I on the other hand am in love with Richard. After we take a photo on the 18th and say our goodbyes I’m standing outside the pro shop when a hand holding a beer can whizzes one inch past my head. It is Richard going flat chat in his cart “You be careful driving now Brian” he yells and disappears into the distance. I’m not sure if Richard would fit in at Royal Melbourne, but he would be great at Royal Park.
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September 5, 2013 by
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Play in Marshall (of “We are Marshall” fame). I planned to play at Cypress Pines in Marshall, but there is no one there. Everything is locked up. So Jill GPS takes me to Marshall Municipal, the only other course in Marshall. I talk to the old bloke behind the jump and tell him about Cypress Pines. “Oh yup. The good courses close on Mondays”. They do? OK then Marshall Municipal it is then. The Green fees should have been a giveaway. $10 with cart for 18! “Go around twice if you like”. Oh dear.
I honestly believe this was someone’s non producing paddock and during the imbibing of some moonshine, some version of the following conversation took place. “I’m telling you Bobby Joe I seen these Yankees hitting a ball around some paddocks and on some grass cut real close and they charge these folks (folks dressed in pants held up by belts, not ropes mind you – you know real hi-falutin folks) actual money. So after tethering Lulu the goat for a day or two in 18 different places around this god forsaken place, Marshall Municipal was born. I play some rubbish golf and get out of Dodge (well Marshall).
I drive from Texas to Oklahoma. Outside of Texarkana I notice that to the west it appears to be night time even though it is only 4pm. It is the blackest storm I have ever seen. Luckily, it looks like I’m going to skirt around it. I don’t skirt around it. The car in front of me (with hazard lights flashing) is doing 20 kmh and I’m hanging on 10 – 15 metres behind (with hazard lights flashing, as is a car behind me. In spite of being this close, a number of times I can’t see the car in front. It is simply too dark and the rain, well I was going to say bucketing down, but it is beyond this - at times, it is submerged. There are only tiny shoulders on the road so you can’t pull over as this would even be more dangerous. Fork lightning appears to be dancing around the car creating momentary whiteouts, followed by thunder that literally rocks the car. You can only hang on – pushing through – anything else would be chaos. The cars might be doing 20 kmh the B Doubles don’t seem notice the slightly inclement weather and are happily pushing through at 100 kmh. Gets it over one way or the other quicker I suppose. This goes on and on and on for 40 minutes and then blue sky. I pull into the next town. Apparently what we just went through was “a little un”. Nothing like what they got last week. So as far as near to death experiences go, not much to worry about.
Still
You frequently see Sheriff’s cars as you travel about. This gives me a chance to practice my American accent as I drive. Perhaps I’m going a little stir crazy, but I’m doing a lot of driving and I have already explained the problem with Radio Ga Ga. So channeling my inner Walter Brennan “That’s the fuck’n Sheriff boy! You are in a lot of trouble boy. You killed that man back in Tucson boy!” So imagine my surprise at the irony of the Sheriff with lights ablaze looming in the rear view mirror. That’s the Sheriff boy! I look at the speedo – 85 mph – that’s not good. From my observations, Americans don’t seem to regard them as speed limits, but rather speed suggestions. What I hadn’t properly processed was that you often saw cars pulled over by the boys in fawn. A correlation between the frequency of cars being pulled over and the number of cars whizzing by me hadn’t sunk in.
“Good Afternoon Sir. Do you realise you were doing 85 in a 65 zone?” 20 mph over – that’s about 30-35 ks over. If I was back home Denis Napthine would be very pleased . 6 points? Court appearance? At least a lot of strife. “I’m sorry Officer, it was just dumb, I wasn’t paying attention. “Could I have your insurance and your licence sir?”. Insurance? Not this again. “It’s a rental-so I have got the agreement”. I pulled the agreement out from behind the visor. I had seen this in cop shows and it looked cool so that is why I put it there. Never thinking I would actually have to show it to a sheriff. “You’re an Australian?” “Yup”. “May I see your passport please?” “No worries”. ”Are you even allowed to drive here?”. “I believe so”. He said this the same as you would expect him to say “So you are a Martian – from Mars and you say you can drive here?” “ I never come across an Australian (Martian) before” “Mexicans have endorsements on their licences. Humph. I have it to check this out – you wait right there” After 10 minutes he comes back. “How long have you been driving around the United States” “A few weeks” “A few weeks – Well you should know we have speed limits here. I want you to take it easy from now on and I’m going to let you go with a warning” A warning can you imagine a Vic copper doing that if you were 6 ks over the limit let alone 30-35 over. How great is that! A warning , well I’ll be buggered. I love Sheriffs.
Apropos of nothing – Just that I found it amusing – I’m wearing a t shirt that says “Champion Rochester 1919” it reminds me what happened in New York just before I came down here. I am walking past Central Park (wearing said shirt) concentrating on trucking right (10 cc obviously had a profound effect on me) and I pass two large black chaps selling something or other. First chap “Ohhh it is Rocky Balboa”. Second Chap “Well Champion! Mister Balboa! Ask yourself this! Can you kick my ass?” We all laugh heartily. Well them heartily, me – slightly high pitched and nervously. What are the odds of me wearing my Rocky t shirt (that I had never thought of as my Rocky t shirt previously) and running into Apollo Creed and Clubber Lang? And I’m not even in Philly?
• 70 going on 35
• Gollum after he drank too much red cordial
I decide to go to Hope Arkansas. This is Clinton’s birthplace. I want to go to his Presidential Library. I’m a Bill fan. But partly I want to see how they handle the whole Monica, Paula Jones, Gennifer Flowers et al thing. Do they just ignore it? Say “he was a hard dawg to keep on the porch”? Or do they say Hilary encouraged him to “live life to the full”?
The Presidential Library isn’t in Hope. It is in Little Rock (the State capitol) and a long way away. There is bugger all in Hope. A little known fact: It used to be known as “Abandon Hope all ye who enter here” and this got shortened down to first Hopeless and now Hope. Bill Clinton’s first campaign used the line “A man from a place called Hope”. What they didn’t mention was that he had the good sense to get out of there as soon as he could. Not to put too fine a point on it, this is a prick of a joint.
Scene: Front desk of a non-descript hotel in Hope, Arkansas.
Character 1: Slightly dishevelled, slightly (well more than slightly) smelly, slightly disorientated man from southern climes.
Character 2: A very well organised, well presented, sweet smelling man tending the counter.
Character 1: “Where do I go to get a drink”?
Character 2: “This a dry County sir”
Character 1: A long pause, “What does that mean”?
Character 2: “You can’t buy alcohol”
Character 1: A long pause, “What does that mean”?
Character 2: “This is the Bible Belt sir”
Character 1: “But I want a drink”
Character 2: “I’m sorry sir- you have Bill Clinton to blame”
Character 1: “But I want a drink”
This went on for a while before Character 1 found out (from another guest – a very smug guest – who always brought alcohol with him when in the Bible belt) that 30 miles away in Fulton you can buy take away alcohol. This seems extreme (an hour round trip) –surely Character 1 can go without for 1 night. Only someone who has never been to Hope would think this.
I arrive in Fulton. Town Slogan; “It might be shithole, but at least we have got booze”. The grog dispensing establishment is set up in two separate side by side buildings. Building 1 = Beer. Building 2 = Hard Liquor. So Building 2 for me. There is a rather odd looking chap there. Think Dexy Midnight Runner crossed with Ted Nugent with an incongruous large Steve Waugh red rag hanging out his pants. He spots a very large man who he knows. He is much more pleased to see the large gent than the large gent is to see him. He hugs the large gent. The large gent’s reaction? Imagine the sort of reaction you had as a kid when Great Uncle Merv gave you a hug when you were pretty sure Great Uncle Merv had a sizable stiffy happening. Large gent “Where you been man?” Odd Looking Gent (OLG), very happily, “I’ve been in jail”. This was not whispered. Large gent “Oh……….ummmm how is Darlene”? OLG “We are separated – I’m sorry to say there was domestic vi-o-lence involved”. Again this was not whispered and he didn’t seem at all sorry – if anything, gleeful. I quickly pay and scurry out. Would it be wrong to neck a 2 litre Jim Beam while driving?
• I am Marshall
• Texarkana
• It’s the Sheriff boy!
• Cut me Mick! Cut me!
I stayed in Baton Rouge (Go
Riverboat Bandits) and had a hell of a time. Great food, music and company, but on reflection nothing happened that was particularly funny and or interesting. Maybe one thing. I drank with a black woman who was a History Major and we talked about the Jefferson Davis thing. She said there were still a lot of problems, but it was telling that we could be in a social situation now and 50 years ago that would not be possible and in fact we would be both be in danger just for talking. So things are obviously a lot better.
I’m obviously driving a lot and therefore hear a lot of local radio. Scan…………….Crackle…………Country…………..Crackle……Western……..Crackle………Country and Western……..Crackle………..Jesus loves you………….Crackle………God hates Obamacare ………..Crackle……….Obama, Fascist or Communist? We report you decide!
Where the fuck is my Ipod?
A more positive observation on the South. I have not seen any graffiti. I mean none. Anywhere! Of course this makes me home sick for Melbourne and its mindless tagging I mean street art, that makes a walk down Johnston St Collingwood like a saunter through Ozzy Osbourne’s colon.
• A man from a place called Hope.
• A man needs a drink
• A man out of his gourd
I play in Mobile with Jimmy B who has his two boys with him. At the second tee
“I really like that Australian music”. “Really who?” Thinking Acca Dacca, Oils, Powderfinger maybe. No. Hillsong. Jimmy is a Pentecostal Christian who often listens to Hillsong (the Christian group in Queensland that Johnnie Howard used dag up to), who apparently are very big here. Jimmy tells me on the third hole that he tries to do everything like Jesus would do it. When he gets to pitch range at each hole I ask what Jesus would hit. He tells me a 7 or 8 or 9, whatever. He has a sense of humour about this stuff. According to Jimmy so did the son of God. I’m really starting to like these committed Christians. They are so happy and know where they’re going. Maybe this is my go*. If Jimmy is really emulating Jesus with his approach shots – the Lord really knew how to check up. Anyway the first nine holes are rubbish by me – 51. Jimmy has to take off. I continue on – 45! Easy course, but still – happy with that back nine.
*(Note from
10 days into the future Brian whose is typing this up from early August Brian’s notes – this is not his go (or my go) and I remain godless.
Jimmy, Noah, Luke and your humble correspondent.
• Busted flat in Baton Rouge
• Radio Ga Ga
Reply
This wasn’t a produce store or a ranch or a tourist attraction. Just an ordinary house in an ordinary street in Arkansas with a fibreglass bull on the roof. “Dearl you know how you always wanted to put a bull on our roof?” “Yes Betty Sue” “I think you should do it” “Oh Betty Sue I love you” “I love you Dearl”
Posted on
August 21, 2013 by
bdonnel16
I arrive in Mobile and saunter around downtown. I settle on a little bar that has a male/female duo singing. They have an incredibly eclectic play list ranging from 40’s blues to C&W to Floyd – “Wish you were here”. And they are sensational. In a little bar! In Mobile!
Two young fellows sitting either side of me who don’t know each other engage me in conversation. “
Man I got to go Australia, I hear it is soooo beautiful”. I don’t get this. Coming from people who live in a country as topographically diverse as the USA to think that Australia is beautiful? Yeah some of it is. But a large swath of it is just flat and red and pretty bloody boring. Anyway Americans always say this and that they intend to go to OZ and it is all very nice, but it is just polite bullshit. Anyway DB is about to arrive and I decide I better get him home.
I call into liquor store. There is a young woman standing next to me buying a
bottle of bourbon. She points to me and says “He’ll pay”. Me “I was just going to suggest that”. Her “
Oh! You have just got to keep talking. I love that accent. You all sound so smart. Not like us. We all sound like rednecks”. Me “
No, it is charming, you sound like Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind”. Her
“I hate it “. Me “
You would be exceedingly popular in Australia”. Her
“Really?”. Me
“Really”. Now the truth of it is: she is very good looking young woman who would do well in OZ even if she sounded like Chewbacca.
DB needs to get home.
• Australian Music
• Playing golf like Jesus
Posted on
August 21, 2013 by
bdonnel1Reply
I get back to the hotel about 10 pm. The clubs aren’t on the back seat. I put them into the boot, right? Wrong! I left them next to the cart. I drive the 20 ks back to the course. All the carts have been put away. I literally have to push a cat from the door to the pro’s shop with my foot. It doesn’t flinch. I peek through the window. There they are! I forgot that the bag has Australia written on it. So I know they are mine. I move away, the cat ambles back the foot I pushed it back. The next day I drive back to the course. The cat is sitting next to one of the greenkeepers on a cart being driven about. Greenkeeper “You all came back to get that Aussie handbag?” I’m using a pencil case travel golf bag. Me “Yes, Mate”. Greenkeeper “I thought it must have been a real bad round for you to just give them away”. Me “yes very good”. I’m pretty sure cats can’t snicker, but this one went close.
• Eclectic
• Vivien Leigh
I play at Bayou Vista Golf Course in Biloxi. A course not as sophisticated as Walwa Public. Oil scrapes would have been preferable to greens that you could produce if you set the Victa to 1 on the paddock outside the Fawkner Public Baths. I think the green fees were $20 with a cart! I can’t figure what tee belongs with what greens. I cut across a pair. They explain that I have just hit off the first tee but putted out on the 6th. They are very friendly and ask me to join them. Thank Christ. Quite literally. I’m playing with Mitch and Sonny. Sonny is Mitch’s pastor. This will come to be a recurring theme on this trip. I’m not sure if it is some great galactic conspiracy to have someone as godless as me running into people of faith, or that there is an awful lot of people of faith in this country. As you would expect, they are terrific fellows. However, Sonny does chide Mitch for being “Michelle”, when he leaves a putt short. When he over compensates and putts it long past the hole, “Michelle becomes Hercules”. Anyway I hack around for a 47. Sonny and Mitch have to leave after 9 due to another commitment. Also, Sonny is a little worried about all the lightning about. If a local with God on his side is worried, that is good enough for an agnostic to call it quits.
I decide to take the tour of the Presidential Library of Jefferson Davis, the Confederate President during the Civil War. Does this really count as being President? It is not my country and I realise that there are some sensitivities still at play here –but when I see books in the gift store with titles such as “Jefferson Davis was right” and “The South was right”. Really? Despite the whole slavery thing? This whole thing is pretty fucking offensive – even for an insensitive prick like me. I take the tour, which is quite interesting. But no mention of slavery. I have a long talk with the curator after the tour. This is a very pleasant spot by the by. We are sitting in rocking chairs on the front veranda of Davis’ house overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The name of the place is Beauvoir (named by Davis’ wife) which is French for beautiful view and so it is. After a time, I ask why there is no mention of slavery. He responds that the war was not about slavery, but rather about states’ rights. I very politely put it to this southern gentleman that this seems like horseshit. Things get pretty frosty (for 100 degree day) pretty quickly. Maybe I should have just let it slide. High horse Brian can be hard to take. Not sure. I need a beer.
After the home visit with Mr D I call into the Hog’s BBQ and Blues. I belly up to the bar (how good am I getting with this American talk?) and I am soon joined by Hulio – maybe Julio? Spellcheck prefers Julio. So does Paul Simon. Hulio/Julio is a Puerto Rican born; USA raised 62 year old man. Hulio/Julio explains to me that he doesn’t look 62 because he swims an hour a day, does an hour of weights and an hour of cardio. Hulio/Julio might get away with saying he is 61, but I doubt it. Each time one of the barmaids comes in, they mop their brow and say something to the effect, “I’m hot!” To which Hulio/Julio responds “I know it baby”. These are lasses who are in their 20s maybe early 30s mind you. “Isn’t she hot Brian?” “She is a pleasant looking young woman”. “He says it nicer than you Hulio/Julio”. “If you go out with me Honey child, my man Brian will come too and talk that pretty Australian stuff”. I’ve become Hulio/Julio’s wingie. (Another bizarre thing: Hulio/Julio is drinking wine. There is no standard drink thing here. They fill it to the brim for $3. I’ve seen this same thing at every bar I’ve been to). Hulio/Julio tells me that what he works on is that 1 in 10 women respond. I can’t imagine Hulio/Julio having better than 1 in 10,000 success rate and only then if he came across Helen Keller. The Puerto Rican/Australian answer to Frank and Dino comes to an end. I couldn’t convince Hulio/Julio that there are less than 100 million Australians. “If that is true how come you Aussies keep bobbing up everywhere”. Nor could I convince him that we don’t belong to the UK. “How come then they have their flag on yours?” Hulio/Julio has been mightily entertaining and accordingly I promise him a job at Crown Sydney as the head croupier (this is his field). As a minority shareholder (I think James has more than me) I’m pretty sure I can do this. So done deal. My work is done here.
• A black cat
• An Aussie handbag
Posted on
August 17, 2013 by
bdonnel11
After a google search, I decide I’m going to play Creekside Golf Club. Jill (my GPS) takes me there, but there is no there. Creekside opened in 1976 and by the look of things closed in 79. That night I found the following review: “NOTICE PRICE PAID LIKE ME YOU WILL BE TRESPASING THE COURSE IS CLOSED DIDNT MAKE IT, OUTA HERE, A NICE WALK STILL. WATCH OUT FOR SNAKS! LOTS OF H2O ;>😉”. I wish I had read this deranged illiterate drug addict’s post beforehand, if only for the winky emoticom. Jill takes me on to Osceola Public. Osceola was a Seminole who was involved in the Indian wars in the 1830s and according to Wikipedia it is rumoured that his embalmed head periodically turns up at different locales. That is it. That is all it says. I think that the deranged junkie is a Wikipedia contributor.
I play on my own. Putrid performance- with mulligans and various other cheating – 103, 103ish. There are only about 6 people on the course. Apparently it is too hot for most according to the pro (this is after he stops laughing about me going to Creekside). I call into the 19th. The barkeep “So where are you from”? Me “Australia”. Him “Mate, I think we got that”. Apparently he lived in Noosa for 2 years, has been to Melbourne (Very cosmopolitan apparently – “Australia is where it is at Man!”) and tried unsuccessfully to emigrate. Stupidly he went through the correct channels.
• Sonny and Mitch
• Jefferson Davis
• Me and Julio down by the Hog’s Blues and BBQ
Posted on
August 14, 2013 by
bdonnel1Reply
So back to car insurance and rentals (at last I hear you say). I’m still a tad concerned that I’m not covered. I make a number of calls. I’m not covered. I find a Pommie mob that acts as a broker and also arranges comprehensive insurance. I decide to go with this. To be honest it was Drunken Brian (DB) who made this decision, but I stand by him. This means driving back to Atlanta and handing back the car to Dollar and getting a new one from Avis.
So the next morning I drive the 2 and 1/2 hours back to Augusta hand back the car to Dollar and bowl along with Rental cars’ ref no and Avis’s (DB thought of everything) to Avis reception. Her, “I’m sorry sir that order has been cancelled”. Me, “But that is not right!”. Her “I’m sorry sir, but if you look right here” (her turning the screen and tapping on Cancelled on the screen), “it has been cancelled”. Me, “But I didn’t cancel it”. Her, “I’m sorry sir, I can arrange another car for you”. Me “But that means I’m back to paying $3000 rather than $1100″. Her “Well I’m afraid that is between you and the third party, perhaps you could ring them”. Me “I don’t have their number. Could you possibly look it up for me” At this stage her supervisor ( a three foot six Irishman) comes over possibly to investigate why a 56 year old man is talking in the high falsetto of a 12 year old girl. He hears the story, shakes his head ruefully and tells me that there is nothing they can do as they are all dumb terminals. There are seven people behind the jump, but none have a smart phone? Him “I’m sorry sir we can’t do that”. Me “It is not a matter of can’t, it is a matter of won’t”. Him “I’m really trying to help sir”. Me “Oh Horseshit”. Me (to self, but aloud) “I really don’t know what to do”. Hang on. Now, I know DB was using the hotel phone to ring Rental Cars, but maybe, just maybe! Oh I love you DB. He has saved the number in my/our phone.I ring them. I’m put on hold. Well, not on hold, the lass has just put the phone down. Background voices – “He is a right geezer that one” “Give over Guvernor”, “The Gunners are too good for those plonkers”. You know pommie stuff. Me yelling “Hello! Hello! HELLO! 10 minutes of this. The phone goes dead. I’m cut off. No. I’m out of charge. Me “I am out of charge. May I please use one of your outlets”. Her, “There are sockets scattered around the airport”. Me “Many thanks”. I find someone who directs me to an outlet. I sit down and wait for it to charge and then ring Rental Cars. A chappie at the other end tells me he has the booking in front of him. Me “Can you please tell them?” Of course he can. He talks to the Irishman for 20 seconds. The Irishman turns to the woman who has been “trying to help me” and tells her that it is fine, put it through. He then goes on to find out where the other chappie is. Manchester apparently and he is very confident Man U is going to have a good season. So that is good news.
I gather up my car – a bucket of shit Hyundai – luck of the draw I suppose – it is funny how you can be unlucky. Anyway off to Pensacola and more Armadillo roadkill.
• Pensacola Vice
• Mate I’ve got that
I ring the pro shop at Bartram Trail Golf Club. I speak to Josh and explain that I want to hit off in the a.m. and play with others if I can. He says he has a group that goes off at 9;30 every week, “but those guys like to play on their own”. “Leave it with me” he says. He rings me back and says they are happy to have me. So I rock up the next morning and meet Josh and one of my playing partners Dennis. Dennis and I go out to the driving range. Him “Scottish” Me “No, Australian”. If they don’t guess Australian inevitably they guess Scottish. I’m sure Sean Connery, Danny Bhoy and Bill Connelly wouldn’t be happy.
I hit maybe 1 decent shot out of 4 on the driving range. I’m dropkicking balls, scrubbing and blading them. Dennis tells me had an 85 last week. Everybody around me is blasting them down the middle. Oh dear!
The rest of the troupe turn up. Josh comes out on the veranda to question one the group’s, Rex, sexuality. More on Rex later. There will be six of us – 2 groups of three. The other gent I’m going to play with is Andy. We go over to the practice green. I struggle to get the ball to the cup and then it will roll on and on and off the green. I played Metropolitan once and it wasn’t this quick.
Anyway away we go and I’m hitting them ok. The course greens aren’t nearly as quick as the practice green. Andy is only one over with a few to go (I think he ends up with about a 77, Dennis ends up with a 89 and me a 93. Happy with that. Hit some good ones. Dennis and Andy were great playing partners. Greatly encouraging, friendly and patiently explained each hole’s idiosyncrasies. It makes me appreciate what a bunch of arseholes I play with in Melbourne.
We have a beer back in the pro shop. Rex is a very funny fellow. He explains that everybody in Australia lives around the coast and come night time no one will go into the middle, because it is too dark. Police beg off saying they will be willing to go in the morning light when it is less scary. Handshakes all round and I’m off.
A terrific start and terrific blokes.
Da Georgia Boys
Rex (in blue) thinks the photo of Dennis (in front) will start an avalanche of Australian women into Georgia.
• Repositioning day
• I’m trying to help you sir
• Pensacola
I ring Baggage Central. “Yes Mr D – we have your bags!” Be still my beating heart. “We will send then over within the next 8 hours”. “Oh no, no, no, no. I’ll come and get them”. I go and get them. We cuddle – nothing too serious.
I need to find out if Steve is right about the travel insurance. I need the web. I try an Internet kiosk (unattended). $5 minimum – doesn’t work. I buy a tablet ($175) and buy $5 worth of internet access – doesn’t work. I find another Kiosk. Another $5. Doesn’t work.
Time to take a punt.
Catch the Skytrain to the Car Rental Centre and try a different provider – Dollar. Him “Are you interested in extra cover?” Me “No. I’ve got travel insurance”. Him “OK then”. OK then? It is that easy? (It is not that easy- but more of this tedious subject further on as I attempt to alienate everybody who doesn’t have keen interest in car rentals and insurance – a small minority, I’m sure).
So away I go………..
Driving on the right side is obviously weird, but the major hassle is putting on the windscreen wipers every time you want to change lanes or turn.
I need a GPS. Walmart. At every set of red lights, I yell at the driver next to me where the Walmart is at! (notice the adoption of the local idiom). Through this mode I find a Walmart.
Walmart’s Chris – “I’ve just noticed I’ve got my top on inside out”, Me “A fashion statement Chris”. Him “Damn right”.
After I tell Chris what I’m doing – Him, “My grandfather tried to teach me golf, but I couldn’t get into the swing of it”. Me, “You are going with that”. Him “It is not always gold”.
Another bizzare thing is the road kill. Instead of roos, wombats etc, it is armadillos. These crazy little prehistoric buggers are on their backs nearly every 100 metres.
I book into an Augusta Hotel and am greeted by the lovely Evelyn. Evelyn picks the accent straight away (she gets Aussies during the Masters) and thinks we all sound like the cast of Downton Abbey. She is under the impression that I’ll be demanding tea and crumpets and searching for rubbish bins everywhere. For the rest of my stay, I’m Lord Brian and she is Lady Evelyn.
That night I head out to the Outback Steakhouse. The Outback Steakhouse appears to have been designed by someone who saw Crocodile Dundee and watched Hoges’ commercials and thought that was an accurate representation of the world’s most urbanised nation. Despite the corniness of the whole thing, the food is good and the service is outstanding.
A young chappie bellies up to the bar. We natter. Him, “What are you doing here?” Me – I relate my normal story (which is starting to bore me rigid). Me – “You”. Him, “I’m a conditioning coach for a local Augusta side that is a feeder club for the San Francisco Giants”. Me, “How long are you here?”. Him, “Last night, tonight. I’ve got to get going soon – I’m off to Portland, Maine tomorrow – They’re another feeder team”. Me, “Sounds like a fantastic job – how did you get into it?” Him, “I used to play ball”. Me, “Oh, OK. – How far did you get?” Him, “I played MLB”. Me, “You were in the show?” Him, “Yeah”. Me, “Who for? What position did you play?” Him, “Colorado Rockies – I was the catcher”. Me, “Really, what happened? Him, “four shoulder reconstructions”. Me, “That is amazing! – you know they use new balls for batting practice in the show” (I’m a little pissed at this stage and thinking I’m pretty witty). Him, “I know Brian – I was there and I’ve seen Bull Durham”. After a time he disappears. I can’t remember if this happened after a manly emotional hug or if he nicked off when I was in the Comfort station.
Enter stage left, another gentleman. A black gentleman. He is drinking spirits. I’m drinking far too much. Our drunken conversation starts off far too maudlin – talking about his father’s dementia and the inevitability of death and our ever expanding prostates. As more grog is imbibed, we solve the U.S’s problems and once that is sorted, things get very silly, very funny and we get very drunk. At some stage I decide it is time to go. Him, “I didn’t get your name”. Me, “Brian, Yours?” Him, “Will”, Me “Will?”, Him, “Will, I am”. I am nearly convinced.
Day Three:
• Josh
• A very nervous practice range
• Dennis & Andy.
• 93- yeah that is right 93
• Rex
I’m on my quixotic quest in earnest.
Split from the beloved at Miami airport. The connection to Atlanta was tight so I had to run to the Skytrain, but made it with a few minutes to spare. I arrive in Atlanta, but my case and clubs do not. Richard from Baggage Claims tells me not to worry my pretty head as there are another two flights from Miami that night and he is sure that they will be on one of them. He gives me a phone number that will get me straight through to him and he’ll be able to tell me that my stuff has arrived and I’ll be able to tell him where I am staying so they can send it over, (did I mention I didn’t have a hotel yet?).
I decide that I don’t want to start driving on the right at night time. Accordingly, I catch the Skytrain to car rentals so I can explain that I want to get the car tomorrow. Steve explains to be that if I do that it will cost me an extra $US300 as it won’t get the same rate. Steve goes on to explain that I need to get the
“We try to get as much as possible out of gullible Australians insurance package”. This will only cost me an extra $US1,960 on top of the original $US1,100 and if I don’t have it that not only me, but any of my present or future progeny will legally belong to Thrifty Car Rentals should the car be involved in accident (regardless of fault) or if it is stolen. I of course thought this was terribly fair-minded, but explained to Steve that I have travel insurance. Steve laughed quietly to himself and explained
“that doesn’t mean anything”. Steve was from Jamaica and he might as well said,
“You will be sorry if you cross me. You better understand that you are alone and a long way from home”. So things are going swimmingly.
Next the hotel.
I ring Expedia and request Best Western. The gentleman on the other end of the phone, I am pretty sure is in Manila and hasn’t got much a clue about what I am saying, but is going better than me understanding him. He explains that there is nothing available at Best Western, but there is at the Marriott. Or at least that was my interpretation. It may have been that he said that he likes
“breast wrestling, but that his favourite mama had been shot”. I settle on the Marriott. It was one stop Back on the Skytrain and with any luck I will soon have my ass in bed (I am already going native). I go back one stop and into the Marriott still carrying an oversize case, an overweight backpack and a set of golf clubs. I explained to the young lass behind the jump that I have a reservation. She explains that I do not, but there is a Marriott directly opposite that will probably have it. I turn to go. Her,
“I love that accent”. Me, “
Thank you”. Her, “
Where you from honey? (Mind you, she is about 19 to 20
years of age). Me “
Melbourne Australia”. Her (excitedly) “
I’m from Melbourne Florida”. She then high-fives me, laughing uproariously. I find it hard to imagine a similar reaction from a hotel receptionist in Melbourne. It is hard not to like these people. I walk the 300 metres to the other Marriot (clubs, backpack, suitcase). No booking. Her “
Hold on sweetie” (I shit you not that is what she said. Me 56, her 19 at a push.) “
I’ll check the other one”. Other one? FFS! It turns out that this is where I belong. “
They’ll call you a taxi out the front”. They do. Am I supposed to tip them? At this stage I’m willing to tip someone for not punching me. 15 minutes later -booked in. 30 min later -beer and hamburger. 2 hours later – try to ring Richard. First time – voice activated response – “
your baggage has not been detected”. 2nd time – A real person! She can’t find my luggage. I mention Richard. She disappears, but after a time returns to tell me she has spoken to the supervisor at Atlanta baggage and he doesn’t know a Richard. This causes me to recall those Monty Python skits where there was a doctor in a white coat who would be challenged by an off-camera policeman “
Hey you”and would suddenly dash off in a panic. Was that my Richard? I go and ball up in bed. Can’t sleep – no idea why not. Ring American airlines Baggage claims – Automated response – “Your baggage has not been detected”. I recall the words of that great 20/21
st Century philosopher Adrian “Ramrod” Jenkins,
“You are never fucked Brian, you are never fucked”.
I realise I’m fucked.
Day 2:
• WWWoes
• Road kill
• Evelyn
• Car troubles
• Faux Australiana
• You were in the show!!!!!!!
• Will I am
In a little over 3 months I will begin my quest to play golf in every state of the USA. This was inspired by watching Stephen Fry travelling through every USA state while pretty pissed (me not him). I awoke the next morning and informed the wife of my cunning plan. Her response -
“Yes dear, that’s nice dear”. But I persevered (getting drunk that is) and inevitably when there was a lull in the conversation at a party “
You know what I’m going to do?”. Responses varied from
“That’s great” to
“But you’re a shit golfer” to (from someone even drunker than me) “
I hope those gun-toting bible bashing bastards shoot you”. That from a mate I have had since school. I’m guessing he is at least half a chance of being right.
I
am going to start in the Old South as the states are relatively small and the people are friendly. I am hoping to get at least 10 states done on this first venture. I’m starting at Augusta. Augusta Public that is. As a hacker (and let’s face it I’m not going to get any better) the main objective is to have fun and perhaps put US -OZ relations back where they were during the Battle of Brisbane.
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I play at Bayou Vista Golf Course in Biloxi. A course not as sophisticated as Walwa Public. Oil scrapes would have been preferable to greens that you could produce if you set the Victa to 1 on the paddock outside the Fawkner Public Baths. I think the green fees were $20 with a cart! I can’t figure what tee belongs with what greens. I cut across a pair. They explain that I have just hit off the first tee but putted out on the 6th. They are very friendly and ask me to join them. Thank Christ. Quite literally. I’m playing with Mitch and Sonny. Sonny is Mitch’s pastor. This will come to be a recurring theme on this trip. I’m not sure if it is some great galactic conspiracy to have someone as godless as me running into people of faith, or that there is an awful lot of people of faith in this country. As you would expect, they are terrific fellows. However, Sonny does chide Mitch for being “Michelle”, when he leaves a putt short. When he over compensates and putts it long past the hole, “Michelle becomes Hercules”. Anyway I hack around for a 47. Sonny and Mitch have to leave after 9 due to another commitment. Also, Sonny is a little worried about all the lightning about. If a local with God on his side is worried, that is good enough for an agnostic to call it quits.
